


Honey Pie

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Gen, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Lists, M/M, Mpreg, Not Beta Read, Pregnancy, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Slice of Life, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 17:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12089871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Just some bits of plot that wouldn't make themselves into an actual story, but still demanded to be written.I might orphan this later.





	Honey Pie

**Author's Note:**

> **This is an AU. I am in no way implying that this could ever happen. Just throwing story ideas around.**

Paul, standing in a hotel bathroom, staring at a word on the doctor's letter --  _PREGNANT --_ and somehow all he can do is laugh. As if his life couldn't get any crazier.

\--

Hiding it from George and Ringo and even John for a month after that because no matter how he arranges them, the words just  _don't sound right._

\--

A month after _that,_ spilling the beans by accident during a rehearsal, and immediately snapping a string on his guitar just for an excuse to leave the room.

\--

That night, he and John stay up until well past 4:00 talking about  _it_ \-- he can't even bring himself to use the word yet -- and end up with more questions than when they started. The only thing they can agree on is that they're keeping it.

\--

Just weeks after he starts to show, tabloids break the news to the rest of the world. It's aggravating, since he'd like to have some part of his life that's actually private, but it's also a relief...at least he doesn't have to do it himself.

\--

On a slow afternoon, watching from the piano bench as John slowly paces the room, reading from an already dog-eared pregnancy guide.

"At five months, the fetus is the size of a banana...how 'bout that, Paulie. And all this time, we thought you were having a baby."

Paul rolls his eyes. "Cheeky git," he teases. John smirks and continues.

"At six months, the fetus is the size of an eggplant...seven months, it's the size of a coconut...eight months, a honeydew...nine months, a watermelon...jesus, what do they think you're giving birth to? A salad?" John feigns bewilderment, but there's a mischievous glint in his eye.

Paul throws a pillow at him.

\--

Six months in, he discovers that stage lights, summer concerts, and pregnancy do not mix: he passes out on stage, to the horror of the audience and the delight of the paparazzi. He's fine after some water and rest, but the articles continue for a week. They end up cancelling all their concerts for the next three months. For the sake of everyone's sanity.

\--

When he finds out, at seven months, that the baby can hear his voice, Paul takes every opportunity to sing to it. From finished songs --  _Ticket to Ride, Eight Days a Week, Hello Goodbye_  -- to sketches to the fragments of music that come loose during practice. John talks to it more often than he sings, but it never feels awkward or silly for either of them. Just natural.

\--

With only a month left, it's hard to do much of anything. Not that there's much he  _wants_ to do; everything seems to require more energy than he can spare. In the end, he holes himself up at home with John and settles in to wait...and wait. And wait. He fiddles with the piano. He plucks at his guitar. He writes no fewer than five songs, and trashes all of them. John calls it "the month that wasn't".

\--

The hospital where Paul spends his labor is quite pretty: spacious and airy, full of windows and natural light. He hates it. He also hates being pregnant, John, and his hospital gown, in no particular order. In fact, he spends most of the first stage of labor in some state of irritability. The second stage...he doesn't really remember. Just bright lights and the doctor giving him commands and John -- John is always there -- and not much else. But it all turns into background noise anyway when the doctor puts his baby in his arms.

His daughter.

Robin.

The first thing he can think to do is sing to her. John laughs and (lovingly) calls him a daft git, and for once Paul doesn't have a smart comeback. For one thing, John's right. For another...he's completely spellbound. Head over heels for this little 3 kg person who's barely even a person yet. Even the next day, when they're released to go home, he can't stop staring. Already she seems to fit into their lives like she's always been there...whatever the question may have been, she's the answer.

oOo 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like the story, please leave a comment -- I'd love to hear from you!


End file.
